


Seen

by swiftasadeer (mingowow)



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, Romance, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mingowow/pseuds/swiftasadeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Daryl only works with his hands when there is something he can't shake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bethyl fic and it just kind of came out. Hope you enjoy it!

Daryl doesn’t eat out much; hell, he doesn’t go out much period. His days consist of waking before the sun and passing out before the moon, hours of outdoor labor in-between. He uses machinery to dig the graves these days, but he still finds himself missing the gratifying aches in his bones from tearing up the ground with his own hands and a shovel. Sometimes he still works that way, when there's something going on that he just can't shake. But nothing much at all is on his mind these days.

There’s a mom and pop diner kitty-corner from the cemetery, Maryann’s. It’s quarter to five in the morning and there’s only a couple of cars in the parking lot, so what the hell, he thinks. It’s rainy and gloomy, his hands are cold and wrinkled from picking up his knocked over trashcan and garbage before he left. Damn squirrels.

The bell atop the door jingles quietly as he enters, shaking out his hair like he’s a dog. There’s an older guy hunched over in the furthest booth, scratching his pencil over a crossword puzzle. Daryl debates taking the booth on the opposite side of the room, but he sees only one waitress behind the counter, leaned back against it with her head cocked high, staring at the old TV perched above. The clanking of his boots must have caught her attention, because she peers over her shoulder straight at him and smiles vaguely.

"What can I getcha?" she asks, her voice far more chipper than her expression seems to be. Daryl slides onto one of the stools and shrugs, damp hands rubbing over the thighs of his jeans. 

"Coffee, I guess." She bobs her head, flipping over the mug in front of him before swiping the coffeepot from its holster and pouring him a steaming cup. He notices the puckering pink dashes along the inside of her wrist and he must be staring because her face goes just as pink before she turns away and skedaddles down the length of the counter to wipe away imaginary water stains from glasses.

It isn’t until the third time he’s there that he catches her name. Beth. She doesn’t introduce herself but he figures she doesn’t have to when she’s been wearing a name badge all along. There’s a purple smily face sticker stuck at the end of her name and it makes him snort. Her head jerks at the sound and her one hand encircles the wrist of the other, gingerly rubbing over the marks there. Whether it’s subconscious or not, Daryl doesn’t know, so he swallows down his coffee in one, two gulps and leaves a clang of change on the countertop.

\---

He doesn’t go back to the diner after that but he does spot her once a couple weeks later, in the parking lot across the street. It’s raining again, harder than the first time he saw her, and he’s leaving work for the day, half burnt cigarette in hand. She’s stomping her feet and swinging her fists down like a toddler having a tantrum, yelling at another girl, who’s slightly taller and seemingly older. Her brown hair blows in the wind just as she begins mimicking the waitress’s movements. Daryl turns his attention to the water funneling into the sewer beneath his feet as the screaming match continues, followed by a few loud sobs. 

By the time he looks up, Beth is alone, attempting to unlock a car door. She appears worked up; he can tell she’s shaking from there. Her long, curly blonde hair is matted and drenched and she kicks the driver's side door repeatedly before it yanks open and she throws herself inside. He watches her pull out of the spot but the car stalls at the foot of the parking lot entrance. Normally Daryl is a mind your own kind of guy but whatever it was, something draws him across the street that evening.

Slowing as he reaches her car, he peers in the passenger’s window, rain beating down hard, almost in time with the sobs that seemed to be wracking through Beth’s body. It takes her several seconds to feel his presence, or his gaze, and while he expects to scare the living shit out of her, she simply stares up at him with sad blue eyes. 

A strange stabbing pain takes hold of his chest and without thinking twice, he motions for her to come inside the diner with him.

She’s huddled on the other side of the booth as he explains that it’s probably the distributor causing her car to stall in the damn rainstorm; he’d be happy to look at it for her, if she wants. All she does is shrug in reply. He pulls out his wallet and sets out some money for their coffees; the waitress working then doesn't pester them, though she does keep throwing curious glances their way. It bothers him, he hates feeling watched, but he seems to be the only one of the two to notice, so he doesn't act on it.

Her crying had stopped, thankfully, as soon as they were inside. Daryl has never really known how to handle an overly emotional woman. Hell, he didn’t even really know what to do now that she had calmed down some. Does he ask her if she wants to talk about it? He doesn't really want to talk about it; it was none of his concern but he supposes neither was approaching a girl he hardly knows and offering to fiddle with her car.

"My dad died yesterday." It was strange hearing her talk like that; he had grown so accustomed to her overtly happy reciting of Waitress 101 in the days he had spent at the counter. "I found him. In our barn."

Daryl mutters something that could have been his condolences, but she doesn’t seem to register any of it. He's not sure if she means it was suicide or something else, and he's not dumb enough to pry.

"Does it get easier over time? Seeing dead people?" He’s taken aback, and slightly confused, but it hits him that she probably had enough information to draw that conclusion. Every time he left Maryann’s, he headed straight across the way to work, at the cemetery. So she probably either pegged him as a worker there or a psycho creep; he was somewhat relieved that latter seemed to never cross her mind. "You must be used to it."

"Yeah, but that ain’t the same." He’s not good at comforting but he can be honest about this, at least.

"How do you mean?"

"I don’t know ‘em. The people I bury mean nothin’ to me. They ain’t my family, they ain’t my blood; just slabs of meat that gotta be hidden away." It's the truth; when Merle had died, it crushed him, even with all the awful shit his brother had put him through.

Her face contorts in a way that he thinks maybe he’s scared her, and for some unknown reason, it makes him feel guilty. But it dissipates quickly as she reaches over to snatch his wallet and flips open to his license.

"Thanks, Daryl."

\---

His visits to Maryann’s become more regular and she opens up to him somewhat. Her smiles when he comes by appear genuine and not forced in a ‘how may I help you?’ way. Seeing her grin at him like that, hell, seeing her at all, gave Daryl a peculiar feeling. Like he was gonna be sick or like the skin beneath his ears was dangerously close to a candle flame.

The more he got to know of her, the more he was intrigued. They were different in every way imaginable and maybe that was why he was so fascinated by her. She tells him about her sister Maggie, growing up on her family’s farm, her love of music. She even speaks of her father occasionally, but she never mentions the scars on her wrist and Daryl never dares to ask. 

She's just getting back from her break when Daryl walks in one morning, taking a seat at his usual spot. Beth's name badge sits on the counter, the purple smily face faded. He pulls a pen from his pocket and goes over the eyes and mouth, making them stand out as they were meant to.

Their casual friendship carries on for months. It's early June, just starting to get real sticky out. Daryl's drink switches from coffee to Coke, which she pokes fun at him for. He makes some crack about if she had ever woken up beside him, that'd be what he'd offer her, a Coke and a cigarette. He doesn't mean anything suggestive by it, it was only a passing comment meant as a joke, but that's probably why Daryl never banks on being the funny guy. And judging by the look that swipes over her face, it leaves Beth feeling more than a little uncomfortable. But being the lady that she is, she laughs sweetly and kindly (as kindly as she could), and attempts to brush the remark off. It's too late, though. 

He knows he's crossed a line, one he can't simply hop back over. Embarrassed thoroughly, Daryl pays for his Coke as always and makes his way to work far too early.

He keeps his distance for a few weeks. Some days on his smoke breaks, he leans up against the wrought fence of the cemetery and tries to spot her moving about in the diner. Occasionally, he’ll catch flickers of a blonde ponytail or he swears, the gleam of her smile. 

It has been 24 days since he had last spoken to Beth (not that he was counting) when she surprised him at the cemetery. He's in his worn out work gloves, dirt and a thin layer of sweat covering all his exposed skin. The excavator sits in storage, just as it has the past couple of weeks. Daryl's been working by hand ever day and while it kills his back and shoulders, he needs the pain.

She's clad in her muted yellow uniform dress and her slightly disheveled hair lets him know that she has just come off a shift. The purple smily looks over at him with beady eyes.

"You ain’t been by in a while. Give up Coke finally?" She is being lighthearted, or trying to be, with her small smirk and shyly crossed arms. Daryl’s face must be harsher than he intends, because her face quickly falls, as do her eyes. "You get off soon, yeah? You maybe wanna... I’unno, come by my place?"

How she knows his schedule, he doesn't know; somewhere deep down, he hopes that maybe she had been watching him even somewhat as much as he had kept tabs on her. But he couldn’t say for sure. He means to say no, he's done with her and diners and weird lingering feelings in the pit of his gut. But his tongue betrays him.

"Yeah, okay. Ain’t got nowhere else to be."

\---

She smells like clean linen, her skin sweet but tame, like raspberries. 

"What do you see in me?"

His breath hitches as the words tumble out of her mouth, clumsy but soft. He almost laughs, because he has a habit of doing so at the worst possible moments. This really is hilarious in its own way. If it were anyone else, he’d assume they were fishing for some kind of reassurance or compliment. But her eyes, wide like saucers and screaming at him to give her something, anything, to make her believe that this is real… he knows she isn't like that.

She is completely naked beneath the thin sheer sheet, it tucked and curled around her body just so, like she was part of some kind of painting. Her hair is wild and full, begging for him to run his hand through it. And he does, boldly. There’s a moment where he worries she’ll pull back but all she does is lean into the touch and let her eyes fall shut. Her hand reaches up for his face and midair, he presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist and he draws a smily face with his thumb on the side of her jaw.

"I'unno. I just see you."


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so overwhelmed with the positive response this story has gotten and so humbled and thankful. You guys have inspired me to extend this piece, something I had thought of doing but had originally decided against. Your kind words have been truly appreciated. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter after this one.
> 
> Thank you again, to everyone reading, and I hope you enjoy!

It’s a sweltering day near the end of June, when Daryl feels Beth first start to _notice_. He’s sure she has in the past; it’s kind of hard to ignore the sprawl of his back and the marks that litter it. But that afternoon in bed, she’s chitchatting about what they should do for Independence Day, Daryl rolling onto his side in order to sit up. Her words halt at the full view of his back and the feel of her soft, cool fingers dancing over his scars startles him a bit. He restrains himself at first, wanting to lash out. But he can handle harmless touches today.

Her voice is hushed and sounds almost strained. “What hap--”

Daryl can’t take it, not now. He’s not ready to have this conversation, hell, he probably won’t ever be. He wouldn’t be able to handle the looks of pity and sympathy in her big, blue eyes. So he turns and grabs her wrist, a bit harshly, making an effort to press his fingertips into her own scars. It makes his point very clear.

“Don’t.”

And she doesn’t. But she does jerk away and slip out from the covers to meander towards the bathroom, making an off-hand comment that she needs to be heading somewhere, so she’ll call him later, if it’s not too late. 

The door shuts and Daryl makes his way to the front door, getting dressed in the process. He spots her name badge on the counter and while he’s tempted to just storm out, he pauses as he hears the shower water start to run. Grabbing a pen, he scribbles a ‘sorry’ on the back of some receipt and hangs it on her fridge with the badge.

Beth keeps her word; it’s a little after 11 and normally, Daryl would be fast asleep by now. But his mind has been more than preoccupied the last few months. 

They make small talk, well, she mainly does. Daryl’s not a big talker so mainly he listens, which is fine by him. Her voice rises and falls in an almost melodic way. It’s hypnotic enough that he nearly misses the direct question she asks him.

“How old are you?”

“You don’t wanna know.” He says it confidently but it’s more that he’s the one that doesn’t want to know her age. It already eats away at him, the guilt of knowing this younger, beautiful woman has been wasting so much time and energy on an old ass like him.

“Well, how old do you think I am?”

“I’unno.” She goes on to tell him that she’s 22 and okay, it could be worse, he tries to reason. She can legally drink and she’s not jailbait. But it sticks out in his mind that when she was born, he was already fascinated by the naked female body.

“Age doesn’t matter, anyway. My mama was 15 years younger than my daddy when they got married.” This is the first time he’s heard her mention her father with a laugh and it makes him smile over the phone too, for more than just one reason.

\---

The Fourth of July marks the first time they are together that isn’t at her place, the cemetery, or at Maryann’s. It strikes Daryl how backwards this all is, that he already knows what she feels like writhing beneath him and how sweet she tastes, but he can’t find the courage to hold her hand in public.

There’s a big fest going on in town, it happens every Independence Day weekend; he’s never been to it because it’s not really his scene. There’s a lot of families with little kids and couples showering each other with far too much public affection. But Beth had been insistent and while it took about twenty times asking for Daryl to barely grunt in agreement, he is glad that he did. The look plastered on her face, a grin stretching her cheeks wide and eyes bright in the illumination of ferris wheel lights and sparklers... She’s the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

At first Daryl feels so out of place; he’s worried everyone is staring at him, judging him by his clothing or worse, his age. He’s not blind to the fact that they don’t seem like a logical pair. But the crowds seem oblivious to them and so does she, reaching out for his hand and lacing their fingers together.

Fireworks are exploding overhead as Beth sits stretched out between his legs. Her head’s rested back against his chest, completely captivated by the show going on in the sky above. And Daryl’s captivated too, by the splashes of red and yellow and blue that dance across her face. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words tumble out of his lips and he’s relieved thinking that the booms from above had drown them out. But Beth seemingly caught it, tearing her eyes away from the night sky and turning her head to look him straight on. There’s no smile gracing her face and it makes Daryl’s stomach twist up into something awful.

“So’re you,” she whispers, before kissing the corner of his mouth so lightly that he’s not sure if it actually happens. He doesn’t believe her but he’s too content in this moment to argue.

\---

Daryl’s not great at figuring these kinds of things out so while he’s not sure what exactly their relationship is, he knows it’s something. He doesn’t ask if she’s his girlfriend or if they’re just hooking up because how stupid would that make him sound? He just takes what he’s given and she seems to be fine with that.

He spends the entire night at her place, finally. It's somewhat awkward because he wakes at 4 in the morning like he normally does, his body so used to getting up that early for work. He knows both of them have the day off so he wants to let her sleep if she can; he watches her a short while, arms curled around her pillow and legs tangled with his own. She almost always sleeps on her stomach and he counts out as her back rises and falls in slow, steady breaths.

Finally the urge to stretch out his bones becomes too much, and he carefully detaches her limbs from his own before slipping on his jeans and wandering out of the bedroom. He hasn’t spent too much time looking around her place; if he’s honest, 90% of his time here seems to be spent in her bed and he isn’t complaining.

There’s an upright piano in the corner that has caught his eye before. Piles of loose-leafed sheet music are stacked on it, all scribbles and dots that Daryl can’t even begin to understand. There’s a framed picture perched there too; Beth, who looks so young and innocent, and Maggie, who he vaguely recognizes from the night the sisters fought in the parking lot. There’s a couple that he can only assume are her parents. In the photograph, her dad is balding and fully grey, her mother’s hair still full of color and only the first signs of age creeping in around her smiling eyes and cheeks.

“It’s not nice to snoop, didn’t your mama teach ya that?”

He hadn’t heard her get up, too lost in his own mind to have noticed. The smirk on her face lets him know she is only teasing, but there’s an immovable weight in his stomach already. He hears her bare feet shuffle across the floor and feels her arms slip around low on his waist. Glancing down at her briefly, he notes that she’s thrown on his shirt, messy blonde curls splayed over her shoulders.

“No, she didn’t.” His voice is flat and he can feel Beth tense behind him, loosening her grip.

“You close with your family?”

“Ain’t got none left.” There’s a pregnant silence and no, not now, he doesn’t want to get into this. She knows too much already, based on what she’s seen and the few things he’s actually told her; she’s not a dumb girl but Daryl wishes she would just bite back her curiosity sometimes.

“I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose som--”

“Know what it’s like? Girl, you don’t even know what y’re talkin’ about!” It erupts out of him, loud and booming, enough to make her jump a bit. He pulls away, out of her embrace, and stalks over to the other side of the room. “You think my life is just some story I’m gonna tell ya over pillow talk? Like it’s a goddamn book or somethin’?” 

Her cheeks flame up, in embarrassment or anger, Daryl isn’t sure, but he can feel his own face growing hot. His pulse thumps quickly along his throat and it takes an unprecedented amount of self-restraint to keep from throwing something, anything.

“That’s not what I was trying to say, Daryl, and you know it!” The conviction in her words takes him by surprise but all it does it spur him on. He’s never exploded on her like this; it used to happen regularly in his life but since meeting Beth, there’s been a period of unknown calmness. He supposes it makes sense that it wouldn’t last; can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

“Bullshit! Always pryin’ into my life and sticking your nose where it don’t belong. I ain’t gonna entertain ya with nasty stories about my childhood or family just ‘cause y’re bored with how perfect everything’s been for ya!” He doesn’t mean it, not at all, and how he wishes he had the gall to take it all back at the first sight of tears in her eyes. But he’s too worked up, too damn proud, and too damn stupid to do anything of the sort.

“I think you need to leave.” Beth’s doe-like eyes overflow with tears as she circles her fingers around her scarred wrist. Without looking at him again, she storms back into her bedroom and slams the door.

The slam echoes in his ears and he releases his hands that he realizes had been clenched into fists. He should knock on the door and apologize profusely, but the bile he tastes rising in his throat just makes him want fresh air. 

With no shirt, he slips on his jacket and boots, closing the door to her apartment loud enough so that she knows she’s alone and that he’s out of her hair, probably for good at this rate. 

He races his bike home and just as the sun starts to peak up from the horizon, shrouded in rain clouds, he lights a cigarette in the alleyway. It does nothing to stop the awful twisting of his stomach and neither does the smily face sticker he spots on the dumpster, blankly beaming at him. 

Finally Daryl snaps, throwing his fist into the metal over and over, till the pain in his hand overtakes the churning in his gut. He lets his legs give out beneath him just as the sky begins spitting down upon him.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and everything else. I hope you have enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> This is the last segment but I may end up writing a companion piece if the inspiration strikes. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s never been easy for Daryl to apologize. He’s awful enough with words as it is, but add in the fact that he’s at fault (which, if he’s being honest, is the majority of the damn time) and he’s completely lost. He ponders on it heavily though, the next day at work, and the day after that. He spends a whole week contemplating how he goes about telling Beth ‘I’m sorry’ without actually having to say it. Because two little words isn’t going to make up for all the things he threw at her.

He’s not mad at her, and he never was. But he does get pissed off at the thought of having to crack himself up and let her rummage through all his ghosts and dark corners. Rummaging isn’t the right word... he knows she would never be careless. Beth’s intentions are always pure, she’s so fucking pure, that it amazes him how dark her normally bright eyes can turn when they’re all hands and mouths. The thought of her makes him ache, in every sense of the word, because he had grown so used to touching her nearly every day. 

It’s the little things he misses most, like the feel of her eyelashes fluttering on his chest as she drifts into sleep and how she always threw her legs up into his lap when they were lounging around. It bothered him at first but beneath that, he realized how much he admired her confidence and appreciated how comfortable she was around him.

It’s Friday, mid-morning, and he hasn’t seen her face or heard her voice in nearly 120 hours. It makes him itch painfully like no other, and the memory of her smile has been haunting him since he rode his bike away from her. He’s spent the week wearing himself out with work, till his bones make him feel like his body’s about to give out. He’s getting too old to take out his frustrations in manual labor, he muses wryly.

Daryl may be shit with apologies but he’s also shit at giving up. 

He doesn’t even let anyone know that he’s stepping out for a break; he just makes his way across the street to Maryann’s, sweat gathered along his forehead and dirt stains covering his work clothes. The door jingles as always and he’s there, he’s ready, but Beth’s not the one behind the counter. It’s one of the other waitresses, Karen, that Daryl vaguely knows. 

She recognizes him instantly and shoots a look his way that’s equal parts pity and disdain. But she nods towards the back of the diner anyway and without hesitation, Daryl makes his way towards the back, ignoring the hand-painted ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign swinging above the doorway.

Daryl spots her sitting outside the screen door on the steps, legs crossed at her ankles like she’s all proper. Even just the sight of the back of her head makes his chest twinge in a way he’ll never get used to.

“’m I ever gonna get my shirt back?” The words come out of nowhere and while he hadn’t planned on what he was gonna say, he knows the second he speaks that it’s the absolute wrong thing to start with.

It startles her though, her shoulders jerking as she looks up through the screen at him. Her face contorts from shock to a forced blankness. “You really came over here to ask about your stupid shirt?” He expected more bite, more bitterness, and he has to think that it’s good that she’s not attacking him more. But her inability to meet his eye is painful, because he knows the feeling. It took months for him to even hold her gaze for a moment; what he wouldn’t give for that right now.

“Yeah. Well, no.” He pauses and waits for Beth to give him anything, but she doesn’t move from her spot, her shoulders square and high. A honeybee buzzes around her ponytail and he opens the creaky door to swat it away from her. “You ain’t never seen my place. And I guess I thought that wasn’t too fair.” It’s better than what he had started with but there’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind that it sounds too suggestive. Daryl settles down beside her, maybe purposely brushing his arm against hers, and she notices it. Neither speaks for sometime and that’s okay. He likes the peace of nature and pretends he can hear her steady breaths over the humming of insects.

“You never invited me before.”

“Yeah. Guess ‘cause it ain’t much but it’s mine, so I suppose you should see it. If ya wanna, I mean.” It’s his own way of pleading his case and asking for another chance; he’s hoping that she gets it. And by her half smile, he assumes she does. 

“I gotta hop back in there. Come by after noon?” she asks, her face tickled pink. It’s probably from the rising summer heat but Daryl entertains another idea.

Nodding at her, she stands and smooths out the back of her yellow uniform dress. She’s on her way back in when Daryl notices a glint in the sunlight; she left her name badge on step. He picks it up with his thumb and index finger, noting remnants of the purple smily face. It looks like she tried to peel it off with little success and something inside Daryl’s chest aches.

“Beth,” he calls out, turning his torso to hold up the badge. She slips it into her hand gingerly but not before wrapping her fingers around his and giving them a small squeeze. The door snaps shut and Daryl spends a while enjoying the singing of cicadas. 

\---

Daryl’s place has always been a bit dull. There’s not much that make it homey; he really only spent time sleeping there before Beth. But gradually, she starts making it a more pleasant place to be. Some of her belongings find their way over there, clothing and a toothbrush because as she tells Daryl, ‘I’ll kiss ya till the cows come up but sharin’ a toothbrush is nasty!’ 

It’s probably in his head, but he swears his apartment even begins smelling like her. Sweet and clean. 

She drags him out more and properly introduces him to her sister. Maggie is a lot like her, a bit more aggressive, but Daryl thinks they balance each other out well. And while she doesn’t fear asking him what his intentions are and blatantly questioning their age difference, he seems to pass whatever test she gives. He meets her husband too, Glenn, and the two men hit it off well. Daryl’s never really had a good friend before. 

The four spend Thanksgiving together and it’s so peculiar, so weird. Daryl’s never experienced many family holidays like this, with everyone gathered around and beaming at one another. Maggie looks like a balloon ready to pop, waddling around the dining room and trying to set up the table, only to have Glenn swoop in like she’s incapable of placing napkins while pregnant. 

It’s strange, that’s for sure, but every passing moment has Daryl enjoying it more. Feeling like he’s a part of a family, like there are people in his corner that seem to care about him, is so astonishing. And he knows just how lucky he is.

Beth sneaks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “Hey,” is all she whispers.

“Hey yourself.” He smiles down at her easily.

“You look happy.”

“Guess I am.” And for the first time in a long while, he really is.

\---

“Maggie’s in labor!”

Daryl hadn’t expected a call from Beth in the middle of the night and seeing her name flash on his phone sent a wave of panic through his body. But he allows himself to relax, still shaking the sleep from his head as she continues babbling on about babies and aunts and oh, she’s so glad that it’s a girl. She also tells him he should stop by the hospital after work and that makes his heart stop.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he argues weakly, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the thought of spending such an intimate evening with Beth and her family. It wasn’t his place, that was too personal and he knows he’d feel like he was invading.

“She wants you here, her and Glenn both. Please?” It’s not up for discussion at that point and he knows that, based on the sing-songy way she asks. He grunts, reluctantly, into the phone and Beth’s smile is easily audible. “Good! I’ll see you later, okay? Love you.”

She’s disconnected before he can even process what she’s said. The words echo in his ear and it seems like hours before Daryl drops his phone in his lap and collapses back onto his bed. He’s only been told that a handful of times in his life, by his mother; certainly never by his dad and not by Merle. What constituted love, anyway? Caring about someone deeply? Being willing to do anything for them? If that’s the case, then Daryl knows for a fact he loves Beth too. But sometimes tells him it’s not as simple as that. And she had said it so simply, like it was uttered to him every day.

The day drags on, stupid words replaying in his head and terrifying thoughts of making a baby wail haunting him. He cuts out early and makes sure to clean himself up the best he can in the workers’ bathroom sink. It’s a different feeling, going from burying the dead to visiting a newborn for the first time. But that’s the circle of life, he considers.

Hospitals are very sterile and not someplace Daryl enjoys being. He associates them with vague childhood memories, people poking and prodding but usually not asking him the right questions. He shakes the shudder from his shoulders and makes his way to the room Beth had texted him. Knocking on the doorframe, he cautiously pokes his head inside.

Maggie’s perched in the bed, looking exhausted but radiant all the same. And Glenn, whom through the months Daryl’s grown pretty fond of, sits beside her. The grin stretched across his face looks painful but completely genuine. Beth is there too of course, sitting straight up in her chair and leaning forward towards the bundle in her sister’s arms. But Daryl quickly steals her attention and she flashes him the most adoring look before waving him over.

The room is dimly lit but cozy; he spots a pain chart on the wall, the smiling ‘zero’ face circled in purple marker.

His hands are awkwardly shoved in his pockets as he peers down at the baby, all pink faced and innocent. His chest constricts and he can feel himself smiling automatically. “Congratulations. She’s... she’s somthin’.” Everyone laughs happily, as if there’s not a care in the world, and there’s really not in this moment. Daryl’s eyes are transfixed on the baby and he barely feels Beth squeeze his forearm as he speaks up again. “Can I hold her?”

Beth’s face is the only one that registers as surprise, Maggie simply giving him a warm look and carefully passing her daughter off into his arms. 

She’s lighter than he expects and he gets why people say things feel as soft as baby’s skin. It’s a bizarre feeling that washes over him, arms rocking ever so slowly. “Hey there, little thing,” he murmurs. 

Daryl’s never been around kids much; before this, he probably would’ve said he was indifferent towards them. But this is a moment in which he knows he’s changed, and he hopes Beth can see that too.

\---

It’s a new year somehow, January slowly coming to a close. Daryl always thought it was stupid how people say things like ‘new year, new you’. It resonates with him a bit this year though, even if he realizes he began changing months ago. Hell, it was probably the moment he met Beth, and he knows that deep down. But it seems a little stupid to admit aloud.

She’s hunkered down on her piano bench, playing a slow, soft song. He can barely hear her voice from the bedroom but it’s there and it draws him in. Ignoring the freezing floor beneath his bare feet, he silently makes his way over to her and joins her on the bench.

“I'll leave the light on so you know I'm at home. You can come in, you won't be alone...”

Her playing continues but her voice drifts off, flicking hair out of her eyes as she smiles up at him. Beth’s wearing one of his shirts, a habit she’s grown fond of, the neck hole too big and slightly drooping off her shoulder. It’s calling out to him and he’s tempted to press his mouth on the warm exposed skin, but she interrupts him.

“It’s funny how some things happen, ya know?” Daryl thinks the question is rhetorical and maybe she would have asked it out loud even if he wasn’t next to her. He knows he doesn’t have to say anything but he’s in an alright mood for conversation right now.

“You mean us?” She nods her head once before dropping her gaze to her hands still on the piano keys. They turn over and she rubs a finger along the pink scars of her skin.

“I just wanted everything to be over. When my mom and brother died, it was like, what was the point? And I didn’t think about daddy or Maggie... it was so selfish. The moment I did it, I felt so ashamed. I still do.”

“Ya shouldn’t,” he interrupts her and it catches Beth off guard because he rarely does that. She smiles over at him though, taking his hand in both of hers and holding it tightly. Daryl hadn’t expected this to be the moment that she tells him her deepest secrets. Part of him thought that maybe she never would and that was fine, he understood that, more than most people probably would. And then it strikes him. “You want to know about mine?” Her face drops instantly. 

“What? No, god, Daryl. No, I didn’t bring this up to make you feel like you needed to tell me.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly and he’s sure she’s telling the truth but he simply shrugs. And talks, awkwardly, in incomplete sentences and not very specific details. Beth is quiet and while he’s built up the nerve to tell her about his past, he still doesn’t want to be showered with pity. And always being one to surprise him, she doesn’t say anything of the sort.

“You’ll be an amazin’ dad, ya know. I knew it the moment I saw you hold Molly in the hospital.” It is said so casually, just like the first time she said the love word. It makes his mind spin and images of babies and a house that’s not some shithole apartment and a very pregnant Beth flood his head. “I see that, you bein’ a great dad.”

Daryl swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “What makes you so sure?”

Her eyes light up and soften at the same time, and she laughs ever so lightly, reaching her hand to his face and cupping his cheek. “’Cause I see you.”


End file.
